The Forsaken
by Isis1
Summary: There are those people you encounter briefly; those you meet and forget; and then are those who you remember for the rest of your life. An ordinary, some what plain girl hails from Ireland - timid and gentle - enthralling.
1. Default Chapter

School; a hell within a hell, burning with demons that are more commonly known as teachers - educators - this is what was written on Ephram Brown's composition notebook. Ephram sat, staring blankly at the chalkboard directly in front of him; ebony blackness seeped into his soul. To an observer, one would say he was but one of many cows in the midst of cattle, not paying attention to the teacher's monotonous lecture; he was a teenager, so therefore he cared about nothing, but television, appalling music, and sex - to an observer.   
  
As if the sea parted, a knock on the door sent all twenty-five heads of the students, staring at the door in wonder. Moments passed leisurely, and Ephram could see each movement as if he had pushed the slow motion button on a remote. The body that strolled in first was an ordinary vision - what followed strictly was outlandish - quite purely - odd.   
  
She was short, endearingly petite - scarcely five foot one, adourned with a perverted shade of ruby red hair - wild, and untamed. For, what existed as two, emerald green eyes with sienna specks, which danced within the colour. So, it was her orbs that drew the most attention - the scowl that graced her countenance fit flawlessly together. Ephram's thoughts lingered on her pallid skin; flesh which would rival the moon's blush.   
  
Fiercely, did she glower at her shoes, never looking up, she was waiting - waiting for the teacher to break the silence and tell her that it was safe to look up - look up and unearth a seat. The towering figure that had led her in to the gallows: departed quickly, as though he had something more thrilling to do.   
  
Then, the administratour stood, he was not any more happier at her arrival than she apparently was. The full classroom now stood - unaided - with twenty-six students, ages sixteen to eighteen - with a middle-aged male teacher.   
  
"Here is another student," he announced.   
  
Somehow Ephram believed that the teacher's gaze connected directly onto him - he had been the last new student - was it not him that made his "small" class larger in the first place? He rolled his eyes toward the teacher, wishing that there was a way to feign spondylitis. The educator popped in a compact disc - it had become a second nature - a monotonous voice waved its way through the off-white classroom.   
  
While the timid girl toddled through one of the rows, making her way to the table in the back. The brown, dingy table called to her - perhaps because it reminded her of herself - alone - unkempt - petrified. Suddenly, the teacher stopped the disc; a bemused, almost child-like glee entered his façade. The girl made the table her own, and just as her head was about to hit the top - the monotonous tone broke through her thoughts of serenity . . .   
  
"Marie, is it? Where is it that you . . ."  
  
"Ireland," she cut him off.   
  
The student bodies turned, including Ephram - never had they heard such a voice - cavernous, yet not masculine, and then there was the accent - pure Irish. Of course there were movies and television where the drawl had been perceived, but not in the flesh. The teacher was now staring at her intently, a cat that plays with his prey - Marie glared from beneath her hair, as well as eyelashes. Briefly, she glanced over at Ephram, their orbs met - she was the first to avert her gaze - he was just another boy who wanted to see the scene that was taking place.   
  
"Well, this is an English class, but perhaps that makes you feel uncomfortable?"   
  
What arrogance, she thought, and then regretted having such an ill reflection. Marie had wanted to fit in - perhaps not fit in, but to be thought upon as a kind person. This lecturer, suddenly had the inclination to start a fight with her - the reason unknown to herself - she wished that she could become one with the table - translucent. She had to answer, in her mind; it was the polite thing to do.   
  
"No, sir. English - the tangible class itself does not make me uncomfortable - only Englishmen,"   
  
Laughter - tittering filled the room - the haughty man let out a noise of telling to be quiet,   
but not in a so gracious manner. He leaned back in his reclining-swivel chair, making himself seem as   
cool and collected as he possibly could - Ephram could detect from his posture that in fact, the girl   
had unnerved him.   
  
"Oh," he drawled, insane with a sneer, "it just so happens, Ms. Marie Bailey, that my Mother and   
Father were English, and so were my ancestors. Do you find me offensive?"   
  
Marie released a hushed aggravated breath - she did not know she was capable of such contempt.   
She all ready had herself in his bad graces - the first class of the day - her primary day of school,   
and she had made an enemy. She did not hate the English, most Irish tolerated them - but still the   
jokes were amusing - every culture had another that they made fun of - good-humoredly. For, he had   
made himself her nemesis, why not go the entire nine yards?   
  
"For the most part, we Irish bear the English. Though after eight hundred years of suppression,   
rape, pillaging, and thievery - I say let bygones be bygones. For, what is offending me is your   
sardonic grin that is screaming your infuriating bigheadedness,"   
  
Ephram was the first to laugh; he was the only one who understood every intelligent word she   
had uttered. The others used context clue to get the meaning, then they realized that it was an insult   
- sarcastic in nature, and she was dubbed smart from there forth. In turn, it took a moment that stretched   
as sluggishly as possible, for the teacher to comprehend what she had said. Never had he had a student use   
those terms of verbiage to him - never.   
  
"Oh," he conceded.   
  
Class resumed - the audio reading continued - the lecturer would pretend that it did not   
happen. In truth he was embarrassed. Firstly, he had tried to make her appear the fool, simply   
out of boredom, and secondly he did not have a quip to return. He deducted that since he was an   
English teacher, a teacher of words, verses, and prose - he should have been able to counter without   
a moment's hesitation. Unfortunately for him, too long had it been since a student possessed a   
vocabulary equal to, or beyond his.   
  
The bell cut through half an hour of silence, bodies tensed - trained from an early age to   
move and go to the next class. Marie pulled her yellow legal pad off the table and delicately placed   
it inside her black bag - she swung it over her shoulder. Consequently as she swept passed Ephram, he   
dropped the contents of his bag.   
  
A few pens and pencils were the first to feel Ephram Brown's wrath that day, but insignificant   
papers and a textbook felt Marie's gentle touch. She grasped them firmly with her pallid hands - he   
peered up from his desk and he was awe struck at how the grey mourning light outlined her diminutive   
form. Momentarily, he did not take the book and papers she was offering him, shaking the inanimate   
objects - Ephram shook his head and grabbed them from her.   
  
"Ms. Bailey, can I please see you for a moment?"  
  
Both teenagers glanced at the teacher - from uneasy frowns between them, Marie gave him a   
lop-sided smile - her trademark. Ephram had to grin - she was endearing - so much different from   
the shadowy girls he had known in New York, but not like the small-time girls in Everwood, either.   
The deliberation came to him that she was both. She smiled grimly, and walked toward the inquirer,   
leaving Ephram to gather the notebooks that had flew across the room.   
  
"Marie, I'm terribly sorry for being such a - such a . . . "  
  
"Egotistical bastard?"   
  
Ephram snickered, hiding it relatively well. The teacher's face filled with astonishment -   
even Marie was amazed that she had let that slip, her hand was clamped over her mouth. Ephram stared   
at her, openly - not caring whether she caught him - he adored her timid blushing. His astonishment,   
the lecturer found was not turning to anger, but enjoyment. Perhaps his love of teaching had gone with   
the depletion of interested students. She would humour him because it seemed as if his contempt was not   
just for a few bodies: of the entire world.   
  
"Well, yes," the teacher laughed whole-heartedly, "I apologize."   
  
Marie smiled and swept out of the door. The scent of vanilla followed intensely - the motion   
of her actual walking created an air that forced the smell to Ephram's nose. Shoving the rest of the   
scattered contents carelessly now, he rushed out the door. By this time most of the students had cleared   
the hall, they were as drones - trained seals that fled because of the dreadful siren.   
  
He saw her plainly - his attention was drawn directly to her form. Turning his almost   
frantic outlook to a brisk walk to catch up with her quick pace, he took the time to take in her   
attire. A simple black, over-sized sweater, and dark blue jeans - neither revealing, nor overly   
baggy, was what she wore. As Ephram neared her, the scent of sweet, addictive vanilla roughly made   
him hesitate. His mind shrieking with resentment to his heart, he tapped her shoulder.   
  
She cowered, nervously - turning, Marie grinned as she was forced to look up at the towering   
statue. It was courteousness that made Ephram chase after her - at least that is what he told himself.   
He had to thank her, did he not? Was it not the right thing - the correct thing to do?   
  
"I never got the chance to say thanks,"   
  
Marie tilted her head; she knew she must have appeared as a dog that has been befuddled,   
but his mysteriousness made her glance down. She could not bear to look him the eye - what she   
had done had been idiotic on her part, she figured. Someone like him could never befriend a shy,   
unattractive girl - her mindset was that on the line of girls made, she got the mold that was tossed   
aside, or that had been trampled on.   
  
"Yeah . . . " she trailed off.   
  
Ephram could not understand it - she had been so valourous when speaking up to an administrator that   
resembled a jackass. He considered the lament, that she thought - knew that his ignorance and unadorned   
futility was unsurpassed by all the students in that English class. Inaudibly, she was intelligent, even   
her posture spoke of muffled cleverness. But, most of all he wanted to hear words, which spoke for themselves,   
enwrapped together with her accent.   
  
"What class do you have next - I can show you if you don't know where it is,"   
  
"Well, actually," Marie looked up and saw truthful eyes - treacherous - but they would never   
lie to her, "I would enjoy that a great deal."   
  
So, it was then that Marie met her first friend - subsequently, the first person   
that had showed her kindness. Even her Father was peeved at having to move - fleeing would   
most likely describe what it was that they were doing, though. Ephram waved good-bye as   
Marie slipped in through the door - he offered a lop-sided grin, which gave incentive to   
feel at ease - tranquility. 


	2. Chapter 2

The damnable locker would not open - damn, damn, damn, she thought brutally.   
Marie wondered how a simplistic metal contraption could be the object that could bring   
her vengeful wrath down upon it. She wanted to shove her large textbooks into it - to   
be rid of the insufferable bastards that would surely give her problems later.   
  
She did not sense any one behind her, nonetheless, some one still stalked in   
fierce manner. If Marie had moved - flinched even one inch to the right, she would   
have surely been knocked unconscious. A tanned hand backhanded the locker, sending   
a deafening echo throughout the hallway. Many students turned to gaze at where the   
sound had erupted from - red would not even begin to describe Marie's skin tone at   
that moment.   
  
"Hey, you're the new girl - right?"   
  
Marie peered up at the boy - he was lithe - extremely - dark hair and exceedingly   
shadowed eyes. She searched the broken banks of her memory, and could not recall ever   
beholding him. The boy struck out his hand to shake hers - for him it was the only   
well-mannered thing to do.   
  
"I'm Colin Hart," he announced, as if it were the name of God.   
  
"Oh,"   
  
She let her hand stay limp in his, forgetting almost to breathe. She did not   
become astounded by his presence, but of his actual communicating with her. No one -   
usually - no one usually walked up to the new kid and just frankly introduced themselves.  
  
"Don't you have something to say?" he wiggled her arm.   
  
"Oh," she said again, but this time in realization that he expected to hear her name,   
"Marie Bailey."   
  
"Well," grinned Colin, "Marie Bailey, it's a pleasure to meet you."   
  
"Likewise,"  
  
She left Colin standing confounded - in the hall - alone. It was not that she   
abhorred him - she did not - merely disliked him a great deal. Besides, Marie desperately   
needed to get to her next class. She swept down stairs as wind does a plain, and Colin   
thought he detected a faint scent of Vanilla.   
  
The class was disturbingly serene as Marie allowed the door to shut - an echo,   
then eyes upon eyes on her existence. She stood, waiting for the choir teacher to take   
notice of her. But, maybe she should have just walked to stand with the rest of the class,   
because Colin rushed in, bumping into her - she stumbled.   
  
With fast reflexes rammed into his brain, Colin caught Marie before she fell. She could feel   
strong arms around her waist. This only served to place a comforting sense throughout her   
entire body - embarrassment. Colin let her go as quickly as he had caught her - he took his   
place among the stock of students. The choir teacher glanced at her - sighed almost detestably -   
motioned for her to stand on the bottom row.   
  
The teacher seemed a bit too cheerful for her taste. It was still early in mourning -   
she thought people were still sucking down as much coffee as possible at this time. But,   
from she could abstract, the administrator was a clean freak, as well as on a natural high   
that never ceased to exist.   
  
"So, tell me, what do you sing as?"   
  
Marie from the corners of her orbs could behold some trying to catch a glimpse of her -   
to see what she was doing or going to say. She gulped stridently - a few titters and muffled   
snickers followed directly. Singing - she wondered briefly if it was too late to change classes -   
singing was something she could not do, at least before people.   
  
"I - I'm not sure," she mumbled, irritably.   
  
"So," the teacher drawled, joyously, "why don't you sing a little ditty and I'll tell you   
where you belong."   
  
"I don't belong any where," Marie slurred under her breath.   
  
She then felt a jab in the small of her back. It sent goose flesh bubbling up everywhere -   
Marie shivered delightfully. A whisper from a boy let her know that it was the foremost person she   
had encountered.   
  
"Pardon?"   
  
Another jab made her jump - a different spot on her back - ticklish. Marie almost squealed,   
refrained on some miraculous moment - settled for a galling smirk. The teacher of choir did not seem   
to notice her aggravation, so she looked on as if no mumble - whisper had been voiced.   
  
"I do not sing, Madame,"   
  
"Oh, everyone sings, child - just some better than others,"   
  
Marie rolled her eyes at the pride noted in the woman's voice. Her chest had popped out a   
bit and her back was straight as a board. Indeed, conceit articulated itself within this teacher's   
being. Along with this virgin feeling of arrogance, she felt something that could be summed up as   
irritation.   
  
"It's your first day of school, I would hope that you wanted to have first grades as that not of the   
failing nature - especially in a class as undemanding as this one,"   
  
Marie took this as a threat - a threat and a promise. The teacher did appear drugged, but she   
also could be pleasant, if given what she wanted. And, at this very moment she wanted to hear a voice   
that was deafly afraid of being heeded. She conceded blatantly - what else could she do?   
  
"What shall I sing?"   
  
"Pick something first, then I'll tell you what to sing - if you know it, that is,"   
  
Marie nodded - was that not reasonable - some invisible pulling made her want to add a smart   
comment. Perhaps sing something by Weird Al, or another parody singer. She loathed being there at that   
very moment in time - why could that boy Colin not have knocked her out onto the floor, she wondered.   
There was nothing that could be done, she surmised, she would be forced to sing.   
  
Racking her mind for what exactly to sing, she glanced left and down, she could see Ephram's feet - one   
was tapping insatiably, waiting for something - anything to happen. It came to her, a profound inkling   
that the melody that needed to be heard was new - not some teeny-bopper's dream of Moulin Rouge rip-off,  
and not something from "oh, so sappy Titanic", but a tune that could verbalize for itself.   
  
"Oh, Lord won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz, my friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends . . ."   
  
The tune was short, as well as meant to be sung without any music - at least that is the way   
that Marie always heard Janis Joplin sing it. But, then again, Janis did not really sing - she belted   
out long, low, moaning blues, that could make a rich man cry. It was over before it really began - the   
song - loud - filling. Many were shocked that such a diminutive girl like her could cause echoes of wings.   
  
There was no applause, no shouts of glee, Marie expected as much. She also wondered why that   
the "Queen of Rock-n-Roll" could not be recognized. Then, she laughed in spite of herself - they would   
only distinguish classic music if it was flashed across a commercial that had half naked girls or guys. 


	3. Chapter

Marie Bailey had been sleeping for a few hours, since she reached home - threw open the door - let it slam - trudged up the stairs. Her Father called after to query about her day - which she retorted - 'I hate school, I hate this town, I hate America, and I hate you, Da.' He merely shook her head and recalled how he was when he was teenager - loud, crude, bad habits that never quite died, and of course depressed.   
  
She awoke with a start - trembling and cold with frigidness. She instantly knew that she had been dreaming, but of what, she knew not of. Vaguely she recalled what had woken her up - her Father had yelled twice that he was going out. Marie snorted - he did not even come up and check in on her. In a matter of seconds she could slit her wrists of translucence - or a murder could creep in and chop off her head - or Charles Manson could escape from prison and decide that a small Irish girl that had just moved to Everwood, Colorado needed to die to make the world a better place. Obviously, she giggled to herself, her imagination was on overdrive.   
  
Distinctly, she heard voices, quite a few in fact. They were muffled and all ran together - Marie forced herself up from her bed and stepped to the window. She lamented that only her bed was in her room - a few books on the floor, but the rest of her possessions would not be there until tomorrow. It peeved her greatly that her three bookcases, which were over flowing with books - from vampire novel paperbacks - great works of literature - young adult novels - they were absent and it made her cold inside. Everything else, Marie believed, could be torn asundre, but if her pages with ebony ink were destroyed, then so her soul would cease to exist.   
  
The fact that two truck loads of teenagers driving near recklessly down her street did not registre - instead when she caught her figure in the reflection of the window - she stopped - dead. Marie did not loathe her complexion, in fact her face was deathly pale - fair, with no blemishes, but she hated how wide her hips were and how she never could quite loose the twenty or so pounds that refused to drop.   
  
Finally, she pulled her attention off of her own suffering, not just of her own faults, but also of missing her homeland. The vehicles were moving tediously slow now; apparently the wailing down asphalt did not amuse them anymore. From what she could tell, they were going to a party - and then surprising her, they stopped. Marie could not quite recall who lived across the street - some family with a last name that started with an A - she barely recalled this. Then, it rushed upon her - Abbot - a doctor, his wife and two kids - her Father had wanted her to go visit and invite them for dinner - it did not happen.   
  
The street was silent as night fell around the heads of Everwood. Marie Bailey could have sworn that pins were being dropped from the sky that very moment. It broke through the blanket - the sound of music - not music to her liking, but of many youths of this era. She groaned and was about to leave to go seek out cotton balls for her ears - he was walking up the street - calm - collected - he owned everything, and could take any thing he saw fit to. She gasped audibly - a feeling of fluttering in her throat, as well as her heart soaring valiantly.   
  
Marie watched him closely - his posture was good, she surmised - his eyes dark, yet caring - and a face that could make marble frown. He had a veil drawn upon his entire being - mind - body - soul - heart - it would take a gentle hand, truthful in words and actions - a heart that knew only timidness, but could slay dragons - to lift the cloud that hid the meaning of Ephram Brown.   
  
Then, subsequently he turned his head and glanced at her house. She could see his gaze linger on the door, and then slowly - wearisomely cast his eyes left to right. Ephram attempted to memorize every inch - sharp corner - of the quarters - the actual structure struck him as exceptionally odd. An off-white colour became the boards, heavenly white around the windows - simple - pure - dreadfully enchanting.   
  
But, it was when he saw a figure in a window, he became mystified - his over-active imagination became filled with delusional thoughts of ghosts, and decapitated witches. Alas - he saw it was only she - looking surprisingly solemn. Suddenly, an advocate of a fourth century knighted gentlemen came to him. Ephram mused about how the romantic knights would gladly climb mountains - the house was no feat in his mind - to ensure that the ladylove was safe and happy.   
  
Finally realizing that she was in nothing but a flimsy gown-like garment, Marie pulled away from the window, clutching her chest. A breath flew past her pale-pink lips; she never knew she had been holding it. Minutes swam by at an alarming unhurried rate; it ceased to exist. Cautiously, she turned her, stomach touching the wall and peaked out the window. He was gone - panic - undeniable panic that seized her entire heart - and a skeletal hand clutching her velvet blood pot.   
  
Marie caught movement - slow - unbridled - and then the doorbell. Oh, torrid sound of hatred, she thought quite seriously - one thing she loathed was the sounding of bells. Once again it splattered itself deeply within the hollows of the walls and hallways. She inhaled deeply and then flung herself out the door, and down the stairs.   
  
She found herself hesitating as she reached for the doorknob; Marie had completely forgotten that she was wearing more or less no clothing. As she opened the door, bitter air rushed her, making her grab at her frock to close it. Green, timorous eyes met swallowing blue ones - she forced herself to look away. She forced her entire being to turn frigid to him, fearing that if she did not forget his existence, his severe presence would turn her to marble.   
  
"I didn't know you moved in next to Amy," Ephram said, almost astounded.   
  
Marie searched, she had no clue as to what he was talking about. All she could think of, is that if he did part soon, her thoughts - sane thoughts would fly away. From first glance, she portrayed him as another drone. When he had ran after her, just to say thank you, that is when she knew that he had not followed the drum of everyone else in the tiny town.   
  
Ephram could see that she would be the type that would not even venture forth into the light of day - only if necessary - let alone pop over to introduce herself. The vision of Marie toddling across the street as a bubbly cheerleader allowed a most needed smile full of laughter.   
  
"What's so bloody funny?"   
  
"I think it's kind of satirical that someone like you, could live directly across from. . ."  
  
"Someone like her," she interrupted.   
  
"You've met, Amy?"   
  
"No. But, I used to know girls like her - everyone knows girls like her. From the expression on your face, I'm guessing she - broke your heart invariantly - perpetuating your lack of interest in the general population,"   
  
"I'm glad you've worked this out with yourself - analyzing me,"   
  
"Well, I am bit psychic,"   
  
"Smashing,"   
  
Marie formed the words in her head, but they did not come out. So, instead of the sound of offense, her mouth was formed into an offended movement of openness. Ephram grinned, which made her shake her head - content. Then, she saw his eyes wander furiously over her frock. Oh, dear sweet embarrassment, she prayed, let him not see the crimson upon my cheeks. It was too late, though - too late for him not see her skin possessed of pallour - and of the rose splashed as paint would be on a pallet. He turned his back on her - a knight, she willed her heart not to flutter, a knight who possesses more gallantry than that of Launcelot.   
  
"Our interest's on the dangerous edge of things,"   
  
Ephram was tempted to turn and gawk with a perplexed expression. He took his being into recollection, keeping his orbs on the light that lit the Abbot house across the street. Suddenly, he realized that his skin had goose flesh rippling every which way - he was burning cold with the wind. Ephram felt the urge to offer her his flannel-like shirt that he wore over a plain t-shirt. She thought of something first. . .   
  
"Robert Browning. Do you want to come in - I think I need to change,"   
  
Marie left the door open, as if the only correct choice for Ephram to make was to choose her. Luckily, Ephram like that she expected much out of a person. But, then he lamented that he had not known who, or what she was quoting - he took upon himself to read up on this Robert Browning. 


End file.
